


Stay

by jillothewisp (abbykate)



Series: The Mind Palace [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Mind Palace, Poor dead John, Sherlock Is Not Okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbykate/pseuds/jillothewisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This house is haunted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Jill

Huge mansion, completely gutted. It's cold.

I used to keep something here, something important, but it's gone now. I just wander now. Feet silent on cold, so cold stone floors.

This house is haunted.

I'll be sitting in a room alone, my back against the wall my head down and suddenly I'll know. I'll know he's in the room with me. He stands stock still at the corners of my vision and stares. If I try to look at him, he'll vanish.

I don't need to look at him. I know what he looks like.

There used to be more color here. I know it was warmer, once. Comfortable. I hate the cold. The walls are grey and the paint is peeling. The wallpaper is torn. There's still a little color, though, sometimes. He leaves footprints in the hall in bright red blood.

I never see him do it, of course. I wish I could see him.

Every day I hear a gunshot. I say 'every day.' It's never night here. The sun is always shining, but through clouds. Grey light. There's no warmth in it. I don't think time passes the same here. Still, I hear the shot every day.

Some days it shakes the walls. Some days it's miles away and under water. I hear it and I hang my head because I know what comes next. He's there, in my far periphery. If I focus, I can just see the slow spread of the red stain across his chest. Was blood ever really that color?

If I look up, he'll be gone. It's his way of being kind.

I don't remember when I got here. I'm not sure where, if anywhere, I was before. I know it wasn't always this way. I remember the layout of this house, but it was never empty before. I kept things here. Didn't I? Things I needed? I must not have needed them any more.  _Deleted._  Can't delete him.

He is always here. Walking the floors, or standing beside me. He never speaks, and he never runs out of blood. He will never stop bleeding. The color is always draining from his face. The light is always going out in his eyes. It is always that morning, when the gunshot rang out in the grey light and the blood pooling on the pavement was impossibly red.

He's closer to me today. He's right next to me. I could feel his breath on my cheek, but he's not breathing. Why would he be? I want to say something. I need to say so much. S _orry. Should have been me. Love you._

I don't say anything. I don't try to look at him.

I want him to stay. 


End file.
